A.N. Don't own anything. Want to own something. Dang. PLEASE REVIEW-
CLARITY.
PART 1.
Okay.
Okay.
So, everybody says that the best way to deal with emotional trauma is to meet it head on. I love writing, and I've had enough emotional trauma to write a dissertation on, so here goes.
Many see the tale of Juliet and Romeo as the pinnacle of undeniable love, the symbol of lover's determination and the lasting effects of true love.
Frankly, I think it's all crap.
Setting aside the fact that it's fictional, for crying out loud, Juliet was twelve. Romeo sixteen. How the hell did they know what love was, how the hell could they risk everything, give up all they'd ever known, just for a stab in the dark, for something uncertain and shaky?
It boggles my mind, and not in the good, Henry-Cavill-shirtless way.
Therefore, dear reader, I am pleased to tell you that this is not a retelling of Romeo and Juliet. In fact, this isn't even really similar to it.
Yes, there's forbidden -maybe not forbidden, more frowned upon- love involved and yes, there might be a balcony scene somewhere and sure, there's a tragic ending.
But don't get confused, reader, and think this is a regular semi-not-really-retelling
Romeo is never a judging, egotistical, stubborn jerk to everyone but Juliet (at least at first), and Juliet is certainly never lonely, lost, and suicidal (until the ending, that is).
No, dear reader, this is not the tale of Juliet and her Romeo.
This is the story of the Baker's Son and his Huntress, and of the Victor Who Lost and her Fisherman. This is the story of a boy and a girl who felt something so deep between them they risked everything to figure out what it was, and a boy and a girl that spent every moment together wishing for more time. This is a story of one love that messed up a lot of lives and another that changed the fate of a nation.
This is the story of Peeta and Katniss and Finnick and Annie.
I was there for it all, dear reader. I went unnoticed by everyone, I saw it all.
And then, I asked questions to verify what I already knew was true.
This, I promise you, is the 100% truthful account of this events. This is the sad, sad story of two girls and two boys who just wanted to be free.
/~~~ANNIE~~~/
There is a library on every block in Panem, but the only one I ever go to is the one on 4th and Capitol. And not just because I live on 4th; no, it's partly because, silly as I am, I think the librarian's assistant is hot.
Mags runs that particular library, and she's absolutely amazing, the way she loves all of her regulars and all of her books are like her children, but Finn, her foster son and her helper, is beyond comparison. With bronze hair, sea-green eyes, and charm for days -and when I say days, I legitimately mean days-, he's every girl in this town's Prince Charming, and it's stupid of me to harbor this little fantasy. He's the subject of every girl's fantasy, while I'm the weird chick who spends her time either in a mental hospital or in her head.
I was diagnosed with Hallucinogenic Persisting Perception Disorder when I was seven. Basically, it means that I sometimes hallucinate, and when it happens I can't tell what's real and what isn't. It was a terrible thing, growing up, but especially now, when I can't really function in normal society, it sucks. It's why I only go to Mags's library; she understands, and she doesn't yell when I go away in the middle of a sentence.
I park my bike right in front of her library, now, sliding off easily and locking it in place. I haven't gone away at all this week, which is an achievement, trust me, so I'm a little sloppy. Technically, I'm not supposed to go anywhere alone; Mother and Daddy watch me like hawks, because "You could have an episode in the middle of the street, Annie dear, and then what would happen?"
I am not allowed to eat hot food, for fear I'll go away and choke; I am not allowed to cook for fear I'll go away and burn myself; I am not allowed to go to school, because "Your mother can teach you perfectly well, Annie dear, and besides, what would happen if you had an episode and we weren't there?"
I am not allowed to do anything; I am caged in a little house in in a little town in a little world.
The door chimes little when I open it, and the sound makes me jump. It doesn't take much to set me off, and I definitely don't want to have to explain an episode to anyone.
Mags isn't here; her cup of coffee isn't by the desk. The place is empty anyway, the only sign that there's even a librarian here is the open water bottle on the counter.
I walk lightly, not wanting to disturb anything. I can hear whistling from the back, but I'm too afraid of an awkward confrontation to go see what's happening back there. Instead, I head towards the classics section and smile when I get there. I've made it my goal to read through all of them, since I probably won't be able to come to this library again after January hits.
The thing about HPPD is that it cause other problems; problems like inability to tell real from fake. It cause panic attacks. Depression.
All that's supposed to kick in around my seventeenth birthday.
It's June now; I turn seventeen in January. That means I have seven months. Seven months before Mother and Daddy put me in the Cornucopia, a mental asylum directly outside of Panem.
I run my fingers along the spines of the books, pressing down the anger and resentment. It's not going to change anything, and it takes too much energy to be angry, energy I don't have.
I hear footsteps behind me, but I'm certain they'll turn or leave or something. No one talks to the weird girl, the one with the crazy mental disease. Once they see who I am, they'll leave.
Only they don't.
I hear the crunching sound before I hear the deep voice. It sounds like he's eating sugar cubes or something, and I freeze up as warm breath hits my neck.
"Can I help you with something, love?"
"Oh," I squeak, cursing my crap social skills inwardly. It's Finn, of course it's Finn, who else chews sugarcubes and calls people love? "Oh, no, I'm fine. Thanks, though."
"Sure?" More breath on my neck. Warm and comforting, not sticky and creepy like Snow's.
Snow is my "therapist". He's the therapist of practically everyone in this town, but the gist of his job is this: he makes people talk about their problems and then blackmails them with that information.
For me, it's the fact that if he recommended it, my parents would slap me in the asylum so fast my head would spin.
"Oh, yeah, I'm good. This is where I spend most of my time," I laugh awkwardly and turn around so I'm facing him.
Bad. Idea.
His eyes are sea-green and lit with amusement and more than a little confusion. "Oh? Maybe I'm always in the back when you're here. I'm Finn Odair, by the way."
"I know," I say quickly. Who doesn't know? He's like Apollo reincarnated. "I talk with your foster mom a lot. Mags and I go way back."
"Uh-huh," he nods, still looking a bit confused, "Well, if you need anything, just shout, yeah?"
"Yeah," I smile awkwardly and tuck my hair behind my ears. Before I even notice it, his hand is also in my hair, and he's running his hand through it until he pulls out a white feather.
"How'd you get this stuck in there?" He laughs, brushing my nose with it. "Roll around in pillows?"
"Something like that." The real story is that I feel asleep in the meadow and some doves decided to build a nest in my hair, but he doesn't have to know that. Too late do I realize how that sounds, and I blush again as he raises an eyebrow and nods.
"See you later, Annie," He says walking back towards the desk.
I stand in that same spot for a moment, and it takes me a second to wonder how exactly he knew my name.
(*PEETA.*)
I live on the corner of 12th and Capitol, in the nicest part of the poorest neighborhood of the little town of Panem.
I've lived here my entire life, in a tiny apartment above my family's bakery, and I don't think the place has changed at all. The rich still live on 1st, 2nd, and 4th street; the poor still live on 11th and 12th Ave; the snow still falls in the winter and the doors still creak in the summer and Snow is still a creepy son of bitch.
But this spring is different. This spring is my last.
The cancer started in my lungs, clogging them up and making it nearly impossible to breathe for a while. Then it spread to my leg, damaging it so badly it had to be amputated and replaced with a metal one.
Now it's targeting my brain, and by the time winter comes I'll be a goner.
The light spring wind whips at my hair as I kick the door to Sae's open, my arms full of breadbaskets.
"Peeta!" Madge cries when she sees me, looking desperately relieved as she balances a load of dirty dishes in her arms. "Oh my god, you're a lifesaver! Could you take those back to Sae and handle Table 7? I'd do it, but I'm swamped, and-" She flushes. "I just can't."
"S'okay, Madge, I'll take care of it," I assure her, laughing at her relieved expression. Like I could ever say no. There's too much beauty in this world, too many things to see and do and too little time to waste it being a dick.
"Head's up, Sae," I call, entering the busy kitchen. "Delivery Boy, back for round 2894."
"Put the bread on the counter and grab an apron," Sae says, all business, but she pinches my cheek anyway before she flips a burger.
I smile at her and grab my usual apron; paint and flour stained, it's easily the most stable thing I've got right now, and it's special to me in that way security blankets are special to little kids.
Table 7 is in the very back of the restaurant, and right now there's five people sitting there. I can tell they're from the poorest parts of 12th Ave, and I get now why Madge couldn't take them. She has a history, something with her and a hunter, and it's just hard for her.
Me, I've got no such problems. I smile as I walk up, menus in hand.
"How're we all doing today?" I say conversationally, handing the menus out even though they probably know them better than I do.
"Terrible." The tall, dark-haired man in the corner glowers at me and nudges the girl next to him. Her head snaps up, her eyes meet mine, and all I can think is wow.
Her eyes are dark and guarded, her hair long and pulled into a dark braid that hangs down the side of her face and her shoulder.
Her eyes widen in recognition.
And just like that, I am in love.
-KATNISS.-
Sick people make me nervous.
They always have, and I'm not sure why. I think it's rooted somewhere in my mother's clinical depression issues, but whatever the cause, ithe truth. Even something as simple as a cold freaks me out. I don't really broadcast that, because is there honestly any better way to paint a target on your back in this town than to admit a weakness like that, but even coughing bothers me.
So I honestly don't know what to do around the baker's son, Peeta.
It's no secret to anyone that he's deathly sick, so sick he won't live to 21, which should be more than enough cause for me to avoid him. The thing is, though, he saved my life, and my sister's. So I can't really act like he doesn't exist.
Right now I can tell he's entered Sae's, and not just because Madge is practically jumping up and down with relief. I know he's here because the smell of flour and bread just swept over the entire diner, and I can hear the irregularity in his steps from miles away.
There's five of us at Table 7, there always are, but I'm the only one who ducks when Peeta enters. Prim is too young to remember what he did for us, Rory and Vick simply don't care, and Gale is too busy staring at Madge to notice him, but I do. Sick people in general make me nervous, but something about Peeta makes it so much worse than usual.
He disappears into the back and I breath a sigh of relief. I don't need to be distracted; I've got bigger things to worry about, like how I'm going to pass AP English and whether or not my mother will still be alive when I get home.
See, my mother is sick too, only she's letting it kill her. At least Peeta fights, I think bitterly. At least he tries to make his life count.
I duck my head again when he comes back out, keeping it down all the way through his opening pleasantries. When Gale nudges me, though, I can't keep my head down anymore, so I look up slowly.
Peeta is look directly at me, and his blue eyes widen with recognition and something else, something deeper, when I look up.
A warm feeling spreads itself in my stomach, unbidden and unwelcome, and I mentally chastise myself. I am not allowed to have butterflies in my stomach; I am not allowed to want to hear him speak. I have never spoken more than ten words to him, and besides that, he is sick. He will die soon, and I can't handle anymore death.
He shakes his head as if he's trying to rid it of water and tells us to call when we're ready to order. The moment he walks away, limping slightly because of his leg, Gale snorts. "What's he doing here? Not like he needs the money."
"Maybe he likes it," Prim suggests innocently. "It must get lonely, being sick like that."
"No," Gale flicks his straw against Prim's nose. "No, it must get lonely being that Crazy Cresta chick. Mellark's got it easy compared to her. At least he gets to live what's left of his life."
Annie Cresta is crazy, yes, and she probably does have it worse than Peeta, but I still kick Gale under the table and glare. "Not cool, Gale."
"Whatever, Catnip." He teases, looking around the diner languidly. "Wonder where Madge is?"
"Probably hiding from cavemen like you," I tell him, but I glance around for her too. Madge is my friend, even if she is the richest girl on 12th Ave. It takes a lot to earn my respect and even more to earn Gale's, but Madge managed it somehow. She even managed to get Gale to develop some weird attraction towards her, which, in my opinion, is just wrong on multiple different levels. She's always writing in a wire-bound white notebook when she's not working at the diner, but I'm not one to judge.
Peeta comes walking back over, all smiles and dimples, and asks if we've made up our minds.
"Yeah," Gale says. " Two grilled cheeses, a #5, please, and-" He looks up at me expectantly. "What do you want, Catnip?"
"A bowl of plum soup, please." I say, glaring back at Gale. "I always get plum soup."
"It's really good," Peeta says a little awkwardly. "Well, that'll be right out."
"Seriously, though," Gale says thoughtfully once he leaves. "He probably has it a lot easier than most people."
I look at his retreating form, at his dragging metal leg and his slightly slumped shoulders, and all I can say is, "No, I don't think he does."
[+Finnick.+]
My phone is buzzing.
My phone is always buzzing nowadays, so it really shouldn't bother me as much as it does, but the atmosphere in Mags's library is so chill it pisses me off when something disrupts it. A lot of things piss me off, but something about the annoying pinging sound makes me want to chuck it at the nearest wall.
Instead, I lean back in the librarian's chair and fish another sugar cube from the jar in front of me. Popping it into my mouth, I watch the girl in the classics section and try to ignore the beeping.
She's not even reading them, I notice curiously. She's just running her fingers along them like they're all old friends of hers. Mags told me that she was fragile, but she didn't tell me she wasn't even going to read anything.
My phone buzzes yet again, and I can't take the sound it makes anymore, so I give in and check it.
I have 71 missed messages.
One from Snow.
The others from heartbroken teenagers who want to know why I haven't called.
Gee, I think bitterly. Maybe it's because my therapist blackmailed me into seducing you in the first place.
Ignorance has always been bliss for me. The best years of my life were the few when I didn't ask questions, didn't wonder why Mags took care of me, didn't ask where my real parents were or why I wasn't allowed to walk anywhere alone.
My world fell apart not when I started asking, but when I finally got my answers.
Mags took care of me because she was the only foster mom willing to take on an angry, confused seven-year-old boy.
My real parents were laying with the fishes at the bottom of the river running by Panem.
I wasn't allowed to walk anywhere alone because Snow already had enough dirt on me; he didn't need anymore.
Snow insisted on seeing me after my parents died. He listened to the complaints, the worries, the secrets of that seven-year-old and he used them to control me.
"Have any favorites?" I ask Annie abruptly because I can't spend anymore time in my head. I'll go crazy if I do.
"Oh, um," She blushes. "Well, I really like Girl Interrupted. Have you heard of it?"
"Nope." I get up and walk over to her. "Tell me about it."
"Oh, well, it's about a girl in 1967 who is placed in an insane asylum. She can't stick to one world, you know? And they label her crazy because of it."
"Hits home for you?"
"A little." She shrugs. "What about you?"
"Um. Probably Catcher In The Rye. Or Naruto." She stares at me, clearly confused. "Oh, c'mon. You've heard of Naruto. Most legit manga series like, ever?"
"No," She blushes a little. "I don't get out much." She says this with a little laugh.
Unlike the other laughs I've heard -and I've heard plenty- this one is genuine. She's not laughing because she wants something, like most of the girls in this town. She's not laughing because she think's I'm stupid, like most of the adults in this town. She's not laughing just to be a creepy bastard, like Snow.
She's not even laughing because she loves me, like Mags.
No, she's laughing because she wants to laugh, in a way that's all her own.
It's that laugh that drives me, somehow, to do what I do next.
"Why don't you come over?" I say easily. Her eyes still pop out of her head. "I have the entire collection, and Mags is making some kind of seafood gumbo that's bound to be weird but delicious."
"I couldn't," She shakes her head vigorously, blushing all the way. "Mags-"
"Would probably shoot me if I didn't invite you over. And anyway, you said you two go way back, didn't you?" It's a low blow, but Mags probably will shoot me if I don't bring Annie back so she can fuss over her.
"But my parents-"
"Mags'll call them. C'mon, Annie," I grin at her beseechingly. "You know you want to."
She fights with herself inwardly for a little; I can tell, because her eyes practically broadcast her every emotion.
Then, she sighs and says, "No. No, I couldn't, I'm sorry."
"It's okay." I sigh dramatically. "You just signed my death warrant, but no biggie."
She laughs, and I head back for the desk.
My phone buzzes again. It's a message from Snow, one that simply says come.
I hear the front door bell chime as Annie leaves, but I don't look up. I just stare at the tiny screen.
I do look up, however, when the door bell chimes again and Annie walks back in.
"Why not?" She says breathlessly, like she ran all the way back. "I've been meaning to talk to Mags anyway."
"Cool," I say, smiling.
My phone buzzes yet again. I make to check it, but out of the corner of my eye, I see Annie. She's standing in the middle of a sunbeam from the window, so she's drenched in this really pretty hazy yellow color.
I put my phone on silent instead and grab my coat.